Coffee, Tea, and Me
by RoseLight
Summary: Mark Slate takes his caffeine with cream and intrigue.


THE COFFEE, TEA, AND ME AFFAIR

By Roselight

Act 1 "Info to Go"

The lean young man strolled into the coffee shop with sightseeing on his mind. As impressive as New York City was, his favorite sight stood behind the counter in a raspberry apron. She was involved in an animated conversation with a customer, arranging his flowers in a vase. Observing the vocal inflection and Gallic body language, Slate speculated on what the stranger was saying to elicit the soft laughter and high color to her cheek.

Rather than settle at a table, he circled the shop and planted himself at the foreigner's elbow, until the dark little man shot him a dismissive scowl and departed.

"Jealous, Mark?" the shop's owner teased.

"Heartbroken. Who is he?"

Lillibet sighed, but she had become accustomed to Mark's interrogations and considered it an occupational hazard. "M. Douloux is the new sous-chef for the Belgian delegation. He thinks 'we can mek bee-u-tee-fool pastry to-ge-zaire.'"

"And will you?" Slate inquired archly.

"I have to be down here before 4 to open at 6 am. It's not a schedule conducive to an active social life," she reminded him.

"What if you got an investor, a silent partner… You could do that tea room expansion you've been dreaming about, re-settle in -oh, Westchester, or White Plains. Folks in the suburbs drink coffee too, y' know."

"You're so eager to get me out of the city. Did your rich UNCLE die and leave you the keys to the kingdom?"

"I could arrange-" UNCLE had been monitoring the changes at Bloomberg's, the agents' friendly neighborhood coffee shop. They had offered Lillibet the status of informal informant, and were disappointed but respected her decision to decline. UNCLE Acquisitions (real estate division) had made her a fine offer, and they knew other organizations had, too. She politely clung to her independence.

But there was no mistaking that Bloomberg's had gradually become the convenient rendezvous for agents of all denominations to meet and exchange information, flaunting their private agendas in a public forum.

"But I like it here, Mark. My grandparents opened Bloomberg's when they came over. It's been here over 50 years. Over there-" she pointed "was my crib. I did my homework at this counter after deliveries. The first time I plunged my hands into dough-my family history is written in flour and coffee beans in this kitchen. I like my neighbors; I like my customers."

"Lovely sentiments. But the neighborhood has been changing around you. And your clientele...y'know what they're calling Bloomie's now? The Bird's Nest."

"That's not fair!" she flared. "This is New York City. Every foreign agency in the world, and half the free lance nuts, have an office within three blocks of here. Everyday I see mini-cassettes and magic pens and micro-cameras. But I do not get involved," she emphasized. "I do not 'observe and report' to anyone. I pour coffee and I knead bagels. That's why business is good and I stay safe. It's a delicate balance."

"Don't fool yourself, Lillibet. This business is too dangerous. Too much depends on our work-"

"Your work-"

"I'm concerned you treat this so lightly."

Her fog-gray eyes smiled into his. "I do appreciate your concern, really. But this is all the protection I need." Lily showed off a chunky gold-onyx ring on her left hand. Mark caught his breath. "Don't panic, it's not an engagement ring. Just a visual deterrent; failing that, a quick rake across the knuckles is fairly discouraging."

"And who gave you this?" Mark kept his voice steady.

"Yuri Vasiliovich Dunyashakov. He's the third cultural attaché from the Soviet counsel."

"I know of him," Mark said flatly.

"We've got to do something about this jealousy. 'I only have eyes...for you..." she warbled.

Mark snorted. "I just want to know your other parts aren't up for grabs."

She swiped at him with a towel.

"Seriously, Lillibet. The time is coming when you are going to be pushed off your safe little perch and fall on one side or the other."

"But you're not offering to protect my perch-just offering me a pillow to soften my landing."

"And if you're approached?"

She tittered nervously. "Solo's been approaching me for weeks. Some girls can still say no."

"And some people do not take no for an answer," he warned. "Please be careful. At least take my card." He held it out toward her, and she tucked her hands behind her apron and shook her head, as if declining a date.

"They're all watching," she whispered. "Try a sample," she insisted loudly, stuffing a bagel bite into his mouth. "New recipe: cranberry-coconut. Tart and tropical. Let me know what you think."

"You bloody well know what I think... " But she could not interpret his muttering with his mouth full of dry bagel.

Act 2 "You're safe from everyone but me"

Slate's phone startled him awake. He grunted into the receiver.

"Mark-" she hissed.

"Lily?" He was instantly alert.

"Mark, someone's downstairs, they're making an awful racket-"

"Have you called the police?"

"Do you really want me to do that? Considering it could be your people?"

"They are NOT my people. And if they were, they'd be quieter and neater. Do they know you're upstairs?" He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, struggling into the opposite sleeve. Making that much noise, perhaps they had already planned to eliminate any witnesses.

"I don't know..."

"Get on the fire escape. I'm on my way."

# # # # # #

Lily turned slowly around the flat. "You've been in my place a hundred times, but this is the first glimpse I've had into your world."

"You've been invited," Mark reminded her. "This is the first time I've seen your hair down, so we're even."

Her fingers flew to the mahogany mass. "Oh, of course, I always have it braided for work." She twisted it self-consciously. "Your place is quite charming."

"Don't be surprised. We're not all the products of dark, disturbed childhoods. I meself was a charming lad, and me Mum and Dad doted on me. I often work in-uncomfortable-settings, so I like to burrow in comfort when I'm home."

The paneling was dark walnut, the few pieces of furniture heavy, old, and obviously carefully selected. There was a splash of color in the well-plumped scarlet sofa, and brass touches. Altogether it created the warm, cheerful atmosphere of a British pub. A guitar was propped beside the sofa.

"You play?"

"Only lullabies this time o' night," he yawned.

"You sure we're safe here?"

"Most secure flat in town. You're safe from everyone but me." He managed a rakish grin before yawning again. "Bed's through there, a bit untidy but I wasn't expecting company. I'll camp out here." She protested, but Slate insisted.

"Me Mum would expect me to be a gentleman, and a good host. G'night, Luv."

Act 3 Magic Ring

April Dancer burst through the door with the sunrise. "Mark, they've firebombed the Bird's Nest and nobody can find Lily Bloom-" Her news flash was interrupted by the sight of the missing coffee girl, clad in one of Mark's shirts, peeking from behind Mark's bedroom door. "-berg. Good morning, Lily. Early delivery service?" she purred.

April's eyes narrowed. Her relationship with her partner was a complex one. She truly believed she wanted Mark to be happy with someone. Still...most of his dates she had met displayed her claw marks.

"My shop?" Lillibet wailed in distress. "It's gone?"

Mark emerged from the bathroom, his face white with foam. "Oh, Dearie," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry." His heart constricted to see the warm and jolly young woman he knew crumpled into his chair, tears spilling silently through her fingers.

April signaled her partner. "There's more."

"Nothing good, I'm sure."

"They didn't find Lily there, obviously, but who-or what-they did find was another acquaintance of yours."

"Vasili?" he guessed heavily, his shoulders slumped.

"Sorry, Mark."

"I knew he worked both sides of the street, and probably all four corners, but he was always straight with me. God, April, the last time I saw him, he asked me to help him come in, but frankly he was more valuable to me where he was." Slate shook his head. "What a cold, bloodless sod I am."

"You didn't sell him out," April assured him.

"I didn't help him out, either."

"He should have kept it," Lily sniffed.

"Eh?"

"The ring. He said it was all the protection I'd ever need. " She twisted the heavy band around her finger. "I wish he'd kept it."

"And then where might you be?" The tenderness returned to his voice and he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

"It's no use to hustle over there now," April continued. "It's an alphabet soup convention: KGB, CIA, ATF, NYPD, CNN, PTA…"

"Oh dear, " the enormity of her loss was beginning to dawn on Lily. "All my stuff is-was-there..." Her eyes searched the room frantically. "My purse..." She clutched it, and began to shuffle through it. "Keys to the shop and my home," she twirled them around her finger until they lost momentum and dangled uselessly. "Oh well...at least my ID is safe. When I got mugged last month it was such a hassle replacing-oops..." she stopped guiltily.

"You were mugged?"

"I couldn't tell you, Mark." She lay a hand on his arm. " You've been so determined to farm me out to the country for my own good-"

"And I'm still bloody right about that, " he insisted. A notion nagging in the back of his head found his tongue. "Lily, were you mugged after Vasili gave you the ring?"

She closed her eyes to concentrate. "Yes...yes, a few days after. I remember thinking its magic protection wasn't very powerful."

April sensed her partner's insight. "Freshen up, Lily. We'll let Mark do the investigating at the site, and you and I will indulge in an elegant, guilt-inducing brunch. Then we'll go shopping for new clothes and stuff. Tonight we'll have a pajama party, make popcorn, watch "Peyton Place" and fill out endless insurance claims."

Lily was truly touched. "Thank you...April."

"We single girls have to stick together in the big city."

Lily excused herself.

"Thank you, April," Mark pecked her cheek and left her daubed with shaving cream. "You're a peach. It means a lot to me..."

"Understood," April smiled and patted his shoulder.

Lillibet rejoined them, fresh and dressed.

"Lily, may I trade you April's protective skills for your magic ring?"

She did not hesitate to yank off the heavy gold onyx ring and slide it onto Slate's pinkie. On impulse, she bowed her head and kissed it. A curtain of hair screened her forlorn expression, but Mark could feel her lips tremble, and knew that she finally realized the level of peril in which he operated.

"You will take care of it?" Her eyes avoided him. "You won't let it get-scratched or smashed or left behind or-" he understood she was entrusting him with more than metal and stone.

"I promise to treasure it as the precious gem it is," he said lightly, "and when I come back, to personally return it to your finger." Now it was his turn to lift her hand to his lips. "Bon appetite and Bon marché, mes cheres demoiselles," he waved them off in his fractured French.

Act 4 With This Ring

Lillibet found April a positive, energizing influence. When she drooped throughout the day, overwhelmed by the task of rebuilding her life, April was there with a cup of tea, a snippet of gossip, another project, another credit card. "April, you and Mark have been partners a while-"

"Four years, nearly."

"Is he as nice as he seems?"

"Nicer," April affirmed loyally. " There's no one like him. At his work, he's clever and utterly nerveless. He does tend to be lazy-er, let's say, laid back, off duty. He's thoughtful and funny and completely trustworthy. And protective-I imagine you've discovered that "

Lily blushed in assent.

"Mark has a ...a quiet spirit" April struggled to describe her partner. "Like the ocean. He doesn't get churned up over details. But always you're aware of that power, pulling strong and deep, just under the surface, that leaves you breathless and glad he's on your side. But see here, I can't be revealing all his secrets. You'll need to do some investigating personally. Next time he asks, for heaven's sake, say 'yes.' " She noticed Lily checking her watch again. "Now don't worry your little head over Mark Slate. Let's find a special outfit for your first official date."

"Something more alluring than my raspberry apron?" she gasped in mock dismay.

"Or his pajama top?" April replied archly, and they both giggled like conspiratorial 7th- graders.

# # # # # #

It was getting late and April decided they would venture out to supper without Slate. She did not want her anxiety communicating more worry to Lily. While she was primping, the doorbell rang in a distinct pattern.

"I'll get it, " Lily called. She opened the door as far as the chain allowed. An elderly woman laden with carryout cartons greeted her.

"That'll be $17.85, Dearie, plus tip, of course."

"Uh, April..? " Lily was confused. "Did you order delivery?"

April peeked out down the hall at the delivery maid. "Let the old gal in. I'll get my purse. Looks like we'll relax and eat in tonight. "

Lily turned back to unlatch the door and the wrinkled woman removed his hat, gloves, kicked off his chunky high-buckled shoes, and stepped out of his gray flowered frock.

Now Lillibet was truly confused. It was only when Slate chuckled that she relaxed in recognition.

"Why the disguise?"

"Security," he gruffed importantly.

"He's just trying to impress you," April deflated his cover.

"I'm impressed. I never would have guessed-"

He moved to a mirror to pull off the puttied artwork. "Just one of the benefits of a theatrical apprenticeship." He gently peeled back the graying wig and shook it out. " I traveled with the Sheffield Players for several years. Learned everything: ticket-taking and programme-printing; make-up and memory work; creating props from whatever's at hand. Opened with folk guitar and closed with a magic act: ' the Amazing Marco.'" Slate did a grand bow to the ladies. "Did lots of improvisation...turned out to be excellent training for my current career."

"Don't forget the acrobatics, the high wire act, the lion taming…" April teased.

"Well, no lion taming," he admitted. "Although there was this one leading lady who…never mind."

"If I ever open a dinner theatre..." Lily thought out loud. " Would you be interested in a long-term contract?"

"Now who's trying to keep whom out of harm's way?"

"I don't know, Mark," April warned, "remember, I've seen your act. You may get pelted with tomatoes instead of grenades."

"And you may get pelted with shrimp fried rice, my gel," Slate threatened darkly. "My dinner's getting cold while you gab."

"I'll warm it up, while you tell us what you've been up to the past few days…so busy that you couldn't check in…" April's voice took on that scolding edge.

"Hanging out at HQ, mostly, with the tech chaps. They found a microdot in Vasili's ring. Appears to contain the formula for a rather amazing bio-chemical weapon, and its antidote. They're decoding it now. "

Lilibet shivered. "And I've been carrying that around on my hand..."

"Sweet and sour, Mark?" April passed a warmed carton.

"Appropriate," he nodded. " Well, having completed my quota of world-saving for this week, I'm entitled to a few days. In fact, me folks' anniversary is coming up. 38 years. And I haven't been home in ages. What say…." he queried casually, as if it had just suddenly occurred to him, "I've seen the scene of your childhood. Would you like to pop across the pond and see mine?"

Lily glanced quickly at April, then turned full-face to Mark, losing her luminous eyes in his.

"Yes," she smiled, "Yes, I'd like that very much."

finis


End file.
